When a barely-legal blonde with a lithe, young body shows up at the Devil’s Outlaw MC strip joint to audition as a dancer, Ian “Bowie” Davies wants nothing more than to burrow between her long legs and claim her. She’s too young for his dominant side though, too innocent for the sharp edges of his darker desires. And way too hot to let another man touch her — a thought that has his hands itching to use his signature knives against any bastard who messes with his angel.

Hannah Harris ran away from home at age eighteen, desperate to escape the prison of her strict parents. Determined to delight in the sins her father preaches against, she puts her ballet talents to work, using a stripper pole to make a living. Dancing for Bowie and his blade has her panting to explore some of the “firsts” she planned to save for her future husband.

But when Bowie and his brothers attempt extortion beyond her parent’s ten thousand dollar reward for Hannah’s safe return, she’s left with a difficult choice. Offer up the evidence to put the notorious biker gang behind bars, or protect Bowie and chalk the shitshow up as a lesson learned and begin her independent life anew — without the lying bastard who owns her heart.

Can Bowie cut through the blindfold of lies on Hannah’s eyes and surrender the truth in his heart to win her back?

I sauntered through the doors of the Devil’s Strip Club like I owned the place even though my knees shook. Barely eighteen in a twenty-one and up only biker’s lounge, I had a mission and I wouldn’t be turned away.

Owned by the notorious Devil’s Outlaws, the “no-colors” club had been packed night after night from what I could tell from my tiny, third-floor apartment two blocks down the street. My new roommate, Cadence, danced in a nicer place closer to D.C., and had said the money was great when I told her I needed a job. Without a car, though, Devil’s convenience couldn’t be beat.

Muffled music thumped in the enclosed entryway, slipping through the tightly closed double doors ahead of me. The bearded, tattooed man on a stool beside them took his time checking me out from the tips of my black stiletto boots, up over bare thighs to the tiny leather skirt that hid the goods. A peek of my belly button and toned skin of my midriff gave way to a red halter top that showed off what little cleavage I had, my long, blonde hair waving over the small swells. The man’s focus snagged on my plump lips that shimmered with pale gloss, but eventually, he shifted his attention to my eyes, made up with makeup to make me appear older than the innocent soul I was.

“Hey,” I said, popping one hip out and smacking my lips together, while noting his shoulders, easily three times the width of mine, packed a mass of muscle beneath his black, button-down shirt. “I’m here to see Bowie.”

The man’s blue-eyed gaze slid back down over me. “He call you in?”

A broke-as-hell runaway desperate to make it on my own, I wasn’t above lying to get what I wanted, but the man stared at me as though he could read right through me. Partial lie, then.

“No.” I fought to keep my jitters contained. “But I heard he’s looking for some new skin onstage.” I slowly turned around to give him another look, arms held out at my sides, hoping like hell Cadence’s borrowed outfit would do the trick. I had to get caught up with rent, help with groceries, and I had a mile-long bucket list to tackle. Skydiving and learning to fly a plane didn’t come cheap.

Ever since I was a toddler, I’d always loved having eyes on me while dancing ballet. Now that I’d found independence, I wanted that feeling of owning the world rushing through me. What better way than to dance for much needed cash?

“Think I’ll do?” I lowered my voice, adding a breathless tone like the girls in some of the porno I’d finally gotten to fill my brain with — thanks to Cadence.

“I’d fuck every hole of your sweet body.” He stood and adjusted the massive bulge between his thighs.

Needing every advantage, I let my attention linger even if the guy did nothing for my hormones. “That a fact?” I asked, lowering my voice even more. “Think Bowie will see me?”

“He’ll want that pouty mouth of yours wrapped around his cock, that’s for fucking sure.”

In his dreams…

I flashed a smile, tipping my chin down to peer up at him through my lashes, so far out of my comfort zone the rush of adrenaline hit me like a high — not that I knew what a real high was. But, no longer hindered by religious, overly protective parents, I planned on sinning until I burned in hell. “What’s your name, big boy?”

“Brewer.” He held out a meaty hand, and I let him swallow mine whole.

As I’d hoped, his eyes filled with lust at the big boy nickname I’d offered.

“I’m Hannah.” My real name — its innocent sound matching every inch of my untouched body, but hardly my mind or soul. Finally on my own, I planned to live like my parents hadn’t ever allowed.

“Send me in?” I asked in my breathless tone again, pushing aside thoughts of my mom and dad, and how much they might be hurting because of my disappearance.

“Sure thing, baby girl.” His dress shirt tightened against his massive pecs as he twisted to push in the door beside him. “Good luck.”

The thumping bass of the song blaring through the open room heightened my heartbeat, its steady beat twinging through my pussy. A song to fuck to at eleven in the morning — not that I knew what that was like just yet.

Unable to keep from grinning, I stepped inside.

I’d done a ton of research online and asked Cadence a million questions on what to expect, but it didn’t prepare me for the interior of the biker’s strip joint. Dim overheads, flashing lights, the scent of booze, cigarettes, and colognes flooded all of my senses. Alive with life, alive with the scent of sin.

I licked my lower lip hoping for a taste, but satisfied with breathing it deep into my lungs.
The main stage lay directly ahead, lounge chairs pushed right up against it, allowing the few men seated to reach up and actually touch the kneeling, topless redhead jiggling her boobs at them.

Bills tucked into her little black thong, crotch-less, I noted, as she stood and bent over, giving the men a view of her bare pussy. I stood, rooted to the spot as the door clicked shut behind me, my smile fading. Did this Bowie allow customers to touch the dancers even if the girls didn’t want them to?

Cadence had said there was a no-touchy policy where she danced — unless they consented and danced in private rooms.

Lower lip between my teeth, I watched a full minute, recognizing most of the moves I’d learned over the past two months from Cadence, but the dancing girl escaped behind a curtain as the song ended, whatever virtue she had — if any to begin with — still intact.

A blond guy manned the bar where three patrons sat to my left, his focus on my legs. Toned from years spent in ballet and long, they definitely made up for my lack up top. Lifting my lips into what my new roommate assured me was a “come hither” look, I sauntered toward the bartender.

Hazel eyes, scruff, and a button-down black shirt similar to Brewer’s, open to reveal his hairless, tattooed chest… Not bad. Not bad at all.

He wasn’t the one, though. He didn’t give me that oh, mercy, yes feeling I would have to have before handing over my virginity. I planned on sinning a whole bunch, but that piece of me — that was something I’d held onto long enough that waiting for someone special set steady in my head.

I drew closer, hoping he was Bowie, because the yes in his eyes sent another rush of adrenaline through me. The way he looked at me, I was sure he would hire me.

“Bowie?” I asked, needing to half-holler to be heard over the next song blaring in stereo through the place.

“Ditto, babe. Ditto.” He held my hand a bit longer than necessary, his gaze flitting down to my meager cleavage. “You’re here to see Bowie?”

“Yes.”

Darling released my hand. “Come on.” He edged around the corner of the bar I stood beside and motioned me to follow him across the lounge.

I ambled behind Darling, my legs shaking and insides trembling. Pressing a hand to my chest, I breathed deeply, trying to slow my heartbeat. Acting like a nervous wreck, voice shaking, would only get me tossed out on my ass. I needed to own this interview — if there even would be an interview.

Brewer’s words about the manager wanting my lips wrapped around his cock flitted across my brain, but I wouldn’t get on my knees for any man. No matter how pretty, how powerful, how dominant. Only eighteen, I was my own woman. Independent, and I would never give that up to live subservient ever again. If it meant flipping burgers until I could find something else, I would do it. I just really hoped I wouldn’t have to. I hadn’t worked a day in my life since my father’s job more than took care of our needs, and I wasn’t sure I would be too good at anything other than dancing.

Darling dipped his head at a mountain of a man in a red plaid shirt guarding a door marked “Private” and pushed through. I smiled up at the unsmiling man, setting aside more thoughts of my parents. They had their church to comfort them — the congregation that had always been more important to them than their only child.

You’re here for a job. Own it. I reminded myself of that while stepping over the threshold.

A carpeted hallway lay before us, a glowing, red exit sign at the far end. Two doors lay on either side, and another even longer hall cut back to our left, a handful of doors along its length, a set of stairs going up at the end. We continued straight, and the door we’d entered through snicked shut behind us, muting the lounge’s music.

“Bowie’s office,” Darling said, stopping at the door on the left. He knocked.

“Yeah!” The husky holler tightened my nipples.

Darling pushed the door in and stepped back, motioning me past him.

The scent of evergreen and something warm and mouth-watering washed over me. I moved inside, every inch of my skin tingling.

Framed pictures of nude women, in chains and gagged, tied up and panting, lined the walls, snaring my gaze and instantaneously dampening my panties. My lips parted before I could stop them sucking in a gasp. I’d seen my fair share of porn and naughty images since lighting out on my own, but none of them had turned me on in the way the stark black-and-white images on the office walls did.

Perhaps it was the combination of the scent flooding my nose along with the images, but desire to be one of those women swept over me, and I bit my lower lip against the rush of warmth between my thighs.

“Who are you?”

A shiver slid over my skin as the sexy, raspy voice caressed my ears. I turned my focus on the brown-haired man behind the desk, and my heart seized, robbing me of breath.

Caramel-colored eyes squinted from a clean-shaven face with the most alluring lips I’d ever set eyes on, perfectly bowed on top and plump on bottom. I wanted to lick across his mouth, see if he tasted like I’d always expected my first kiss would.

He stood, and my gaze stalled on the tight, black T-shirt hugging every ripple of his upper body. My mouth flooded with drool, and I swallowed. Sinfully sexy. Hottest man on the planet. Temptation in the form of an apple like Satan must have offered Eve, and oh, how I wanted a bite.